Fairy Lights
Harry realized rather abruptly that, at half-past noon, neither he nor Draco had eaten anything at all through to this moment. He hated missing meals. It was wholly unavoidable and extremely unhealthy. He’d managed to pay attention to all of his hunger cues since the war, eating when he was hungry regardless of the circumstance. Draco went to boil the kettle while Harry looked to see what food he could prepare quickly, so they could eat soon. Harry’s thoughts strayed as he scanned the pantry. The sight of Draco bleeding was not unfamiliar to him, and Harry was finding that fact to be deeply unsettling. A part of him was aching to hold the other man. He never wanted to see him bleed again.
"How did you know to come into my room?" Draco's voice startled him out of his reverie.
"Oh. Uh, the charm,” Harry rescinded, his brows furrowed and he bit his lip with worry. He tried to stop thinking about earlier, instead focusing on the food.
"What charm?"
"It's, er... standard, for protection detail in the auror department. The person being protected has a charm connecting them to their assigned auror's wand. It tells me if you're hurt. Helps me know to check on you."
"I didn't know about that."
"Oh. Sorry. It was in the official paperwork, the offer letters we kept sending you, before you were attacked..."
"Oh." Draco’s gaze was distant, coated with a sheen of some emotion Harry couldn’t quite place. Harry frowned, more aware of his heartbeat than he should be.
"I was worried that perhaps you... But then I realized that you couldn’t have been taken. So, I decided to go into your room."
"How did you-"
"Just about the strongest unlocking charm I could muster."
"Oh."
The silence that fell between them was tense, and it made Harry slightly uncomfortable. It was an odd situation, and one that he had never faced before. His chest hurt every time he thought about it. He watched as Draco’s gaze fell to the front door. Neither of them said anything about it.
Harry had long realized that he cared about Draco more than was strictly allowed, and had more recently realized that his care and curiosity had evolved into something entirely unprofessional. He figured that, as long as nobody knew, though, he would be fine. He wasn't the lead on the case, anyway. Ron was, and, Harry surmised, caring about Draco only meant he would do his own job with more fervour. So what was the harm? Harry noted when Draco moved from the kitchen to the front of the flat, checking the door for several moments, and going back to the kitchen. He grabbed a kettle to fill it with water, then he put it on the range.
It was moments like this where Harry was acutely aware that he was, indeed, not the lead on the case. Harry felt helpless when it came to Draco, unable to think of what was right or wrong to say or do, unsure of what his boundaries were. All he knew was that he wanted, so badly that it hurt, to be able to treat Draco as a partner, to help him through his problems and comfort him and hold him and...
Harry needed to stop his train of thought before it became a problem.
Harry grabbed some bread and found beans in the pantry. Simple, and fast. Perfect.
As he stuck four slices of bread into Draco's Muggle toaster oven, he spared a glance at Draco, whose fingertips were ghosting over the scars on his left arm.
"Draco?"
He snapped his hand away from his arm, looking up. "What is it?"
"How are you feeling?"
Draco straightened, folding his arms over his chest.
"Fine."
Harry's lips formed a thin line. Draco was making it difficult for him to show care when he consistently builds walls around himself for everything. Harry opened a kitchen drawer, looking for a can opener.
"Do you... want to talk about anything?"
Draco sighed. "Not really."
"Are you sure?"
"You know,” Draco began, taking on a defensive tone, “whenever you close yourself off, I don't pry. Why is it that you can't do the same for me? Or should I press you until you tell me why the fuck I get the sneaking suspicion that you were the subject of child abuse?"
Harry's mouth snapped shut, any response he'd been considering had died in his throat. He snapped the can opener over the lid of the can, twisting.
"That's what I thought," Draco stated.
Harry remained silent, blinking a few times as he breathed, keeping himself as calm as he could. Draco's accusation was ringing loudly in his ears, making Harry's head hurt. Draco was right. Harry's chest was tight. He didn't want to think about it.
He opened the can and disposed of the lid. Then, he took bread out of the toaster and put it on plates. The kettle began to whistle, but Draco made no move to take it off the range.
"I... I'm sorry," Harry stated, face down at the toast on the counter. "I just... I worry about you." The kettle stopped whistling. "And I care about you." Harry heard the sound of the kettle being placed on the counter. "I haven't taken into acount how one-sided it's all been… I've just been worrying about you."
"Why?" Draco asked. Harry couldn't help but think his voice sounded different. He wasn't sure why.
"I... I just do," he responded lamely. "I don't know why."
"Well," Draco stated, "If it makes you feel any better... I appreciate you."
Harry looked up, then, turning to face Draco, who had two tea infusers in mugs of the boiled water. Harry licked his lips.
"Thanks," he responded.
Draco grabbed a nearby spoon and handed it to Harry.
"For the beans."
The two of them ate in semi-silence, the air tingling with something Harry couldn't place. Simply looking at Draco made his heart rate increase. The two were sat on opposite sides of the dining table, Occasionally making attempts to speak to each other about one thing or other. Harry watched Draco as he turned to look at the front door a few times without comment.
'Say," Harry began, swallowing his last bite of toast. "We should decorate for the holidays."
"What?" Draco was in the middle of taking his own bite of beans on toast, mouth full.
"I mean, yesterday, when we spoke about it, you said you don't tend to celebrate because you're always alone. But now..."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "You think he may not be caught before the holidays?"
"I- well... Even if he is, I think it would be rather dull of us both to pretend we aren't at least agreeable towards each other, now. We could do a little bit of celebrating together."
"That's... very thoughtful of you," Draco replied, eyes averted. "But it's really alright. I don't need... I'll be okay without all that."
"But that doesn't mean it wouldn't be nice," Harry tried. He caught a glance down at Draco's arm. "Maybe a bit of cheer is what we need around here." Harry was worrying his lips, nervous for a reason he couldn't quite place. "I mean," he began, "It's dark and stormy in the middle of the day for about the fourth time in a row." He let out a weak chuckle.
"I suppose that's true," Draco replied. "We might as well make the best of it."
Harry smiled, happy that Draco agreed.
"Brilliant," Harry exclaimed with a clap. "I'll transfigure something into a Christmas tree, then." And he could have sworn he saw Draco hiding a smile behind a sip of tea.
The next few hours were spent making arrangements around the living room, decorating a Christmas tree which Draco transfigured out of a stool after watching Harry warp it into a tall, green bit of spikes that in no way qualified to be a tree “I was always pants at transfiguration, give me a break”.
Harry insisted that they decorate as muggle as possible, striking up some festive music and conjuring any decorations he could think of. Draco looked at him incredulously, though he was struggling to hold back a smile as he set his wand down and joined Harry in sifting through all that had been conjured.
The two quickly discovered that neither of them were any good at decorating, between Draco always having had his home decorated for him and Harry not minding the intricacies of which coloured bauble belonged where. They worked together to hang up the baubles, with Harry teaching Draco how they get hooked onto the tree and Draco keeping his eye for decorative placement. They laughed together, and it felt good.
It was later, while they sat on the couch together, looking on at their decorative work, the warm glow of fairy lights and hot tea providing comfort and a sense of almost-peace, that Harry spoke.
“You’re right, by the way.” Draco turned to look at him, silver eyes reflecting the small lights.
Harry had been nervous about saying it. Really, he’s spent the majority of the time decorating switching between enjoying his time with Draco and debating whether he should share these things with him.
“About earlier, what you said… you were right.”
Draco took a moment to respond. Harry thought he might be remembering what he said earlier. He fought the urge to look away as Draco’s expression sobered.
“Your Muggle relatives?”
Harry nodded. Draco was quiet again.
Harry steeled himself, trying to organize his mind, to figure out how to speak. He knew that he should. He and Draco were in an odd spot, together. Harry knows things about Draco, is still learning about Draco, in ways nobody else does. The least he could do was return the favour. Draco deserved that, at least.
Harry took a deep breath.
"I'm sure you know, like everyone else, that I was sent to live with them after my parents were killed," Harry began. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Draco.
"My aunt was my mum's sister, but they never had a good relationship. And then I was just plopped onto their doorstep by Dumbledore." Harry saw Draco nod through his periphery. "Well... When I was a baby, they were already a little..." Harry swallowed.
"They were pricks," Harry let out a ruefull chuckle. "And then, as I grew, it quickly became apparent that I was magical, and they... panicked, I guess." Harry bit his lip. "I lived in their cupboard under the stairs. I'd get locked in there for having bursts of accidental magic, and for being any sort of imperfect, really." Harry suppressed a shiver, thinking about his cupboard, the dark stretches of imperceivable time during which he'd be trapped, cold and hungry. "They also took a liking to hitting me, when they wanted." Memories of being dragged, thrown, strangled, and swung at flashed through his mind. "And they made sure I knew that I deserved it... called me a freak, a waste of space... And they loved to remind me that I was going to Hell, for being different." A wave of emotion rushed over Harry, his face flushing. He spared a glance towards Draco, who was watching him with wide eyes. Harry swallowed. "It's fine now, though. Haven't seen them since the war began, and... It's just fine, now."
Harry heaved a breath, finding it more and more difficult now to keep his composure. Talking about it was bringing back memories that he'd done well to ignore and forget about for the better half of 15 years. He'd never told anyone and never planned on it- not even Ron or Hermione, though he was half-sure that they might have figured it out already. His chest tightened and his breathing became more difficult to keep steady. He realized that part of him might be scared for Draco's reaction.
Harry dared look directly at Draco, who looked pensive, sorting out how to respond.
"I... I'm so sorry."
Harry felt a twinge of guilt at the look in Draco's eyes.
"No- please, don't-"
"You deserved better than that."
"I don't like pity," Harry said, his expression stern.
"It's not pity," Draco countered. "I'm saying it as a fact. Nobody deserves that."
Harry's expression softened. He bowed his head.
"And, for what it's worth... Why would God damn the magical when he himself was magical? His power is nothing short of magic."
Harry found the corners of his lips upturning. "Wait'll my relatives hear…" he found himself saying.
"They'll be scandalized," joked Draco. Harry let out a breath of a laugh.
"Well, anyway," Harry said, feeling oddly lighter, "You can see why I never got into religion, much."
"How could you when what you were taught about it was complete rubbish?"
"Well," Harry started. "You've sort of been saying the same things, just differently... Why would God damn you if you're following his and Christ's path to forgiveness?"
Draco's brow furrowed.
"You're a good man, Draco. I can see it. And I can't say what God will do, but I can see that you are trying."
Draco met Harry's eyes.
"And I've seen people who are bad. People who are worse. And they've done nothing to redeem themselves. They aren’t even interested in it."
Draco was silent. Harry watched his face, taking note of every detail, his sharp nose, his thin, pale lips, and his silvery eyes... Harry abruptly realized that he and Draco were closer to each other than he remembered. When did we get so close? His heart skipped a beat. He swallowed.
"I can't speak for God, Draco. But... I forgive you. For everything."
Draco's eyes searched his face. "Really?"
Harry nodded.
"Yeah," he whispered, voice hoarse.
"Harry..."
Harry couldn't help himself. His gaze was pulled downward, to Draco's lips. They looked so soft. His chest tightened. His hand moved to gently rest against Draco's face.
"Draco..."
Harry's pulse was roaring in his ears.
Slowly, he leaned forward. Draco's eyes fell shut. Harry felt Draco's breath ghosting his skin.
Just as the two were close enough to brush their lips together, Draco jolted backwards.
"No," he uttered, getting off the sofa. Harry's hand fell limply to the seat. He was staring at the other man, eyes suddenly wide, the realization of what almost happened rushing through him.
"I-I'm sorry, I can't- I just can't." Draco's voice was thick with emotion. Harry's face felt hot. His stomach was tied into knots.
"No, I.. I'm sorry,” countered Harry, feeling frantic. “I don't know what I was thinking..." Harry pressed his hands against his face, the cold of them burning against his flaming cheeks. He watched as Draco retreated from the couch. "Draco I... I'm sorry- I didn't-"
"No, no, it's- I'm fine," he choked out.
"I'm so sorry," Harry managed, his throat tight.
"This isn't real." he responded, his voice wavering. He was trembling.
"I- What? Draco-"
"This isn't- No." Draco held out his arms as if to keep distance between them. Harry stayed back, worried about frightening the man. His heart was in his throat. He swallowed hard.
"Draco," he tried, his voice trembling, "I-I'm sorry..."
"It's okay, it's..." Draco walked backwards towards his bedroom. "It's... I'm just- I'm going to go to bed."
Harry was at a loss. everything had almost happened... so quickly. Why had he even allowed himself to- I messed up. "I... Okay."
Draco had his hand on his bedroom door, now. Harry couldn't help but catch sight of Draco's left arm.
"Wait-" Draco paused at Harry's request. "I..." Harry's mind scrambled. "I... are you okay? I mean... With your... I just... You'll be okay?"
Draco's expression shifted marginally, and Harry wished he understood it. Draco nodded.
"I'll be okay."
And somehow, Harry knew it to be true.
"Okay," he responded, nodding. Draco opened his door. "Sleep well, then," Harry managed.
"Goodnight."
The thud of Draco's door closing made Harry flinch, and the sound of the locks made him wince.